Coalescence

Chapter 15: A Kings Match

Jameson entered the chamber and the stone door slammed behind him. The balconies where the jury previously sat were closed off and the primary terrace was blocked off as well. A cube of pure stone, virtually soundproof and indestructible. Ricard drew a shortsword, staring Jameson down from across the room.

"We both know you won't keep hold of that weapon for long." Jameson unsheathed a longsword off his back.

"Well yes, but the show is entertaining is it not?" He twirled the blade around in his hand, a small sheet of flame covering its surface. "Let's begin, my dear Jameson."

"Enough with the play, let's get this over with." Jameson took a deep breath, taking in the cold and damp atmosphere of the room before donning his Silver armor. The power reverberated through him, causing his sword to shimmer as the excess mana flowed off of the blade. "Mastered Heavy Art, Valkyria Esparda." His sword became coated with heavy sheets of ice, chocked full of air pockets ready to burst on impact. The strands of ice flowed up his arms as he became connected to the blade.

"A good show, I'll admit. Let's ramp it up a bit shall we?" His sword coated itself in a thick sheet of deep orange flame as he donned his Gold armor. The flames connected to his power lines like conduits, spewing deeply colored and heavy flames out the end of his blade.

They sprouted their wings as they flew towards one another and clashed, Jameson's Valkyria busting some of its air pockets and sending whips of air around the room. The walls echoed the impacts, sending waves of pressure shooting around the room. Inside of their helmets, they could barely hear the cacophony of noise that they created, just each other's voices.

"Let's see what the rat we scooped off the street turned into after all these year's." Jameson teased, pushing Ricard off and striking down on top of him with a whip of pressurized air. He held his blade up to counter it, the flames being pushed off his blade before reappearing.

"He turned into something you can't comprehend." Ricard struck back with a malicious rigor, sweeping blows threatening to dismember Jameson at the slightest slip up. "Something that can do anything for his country's safety, even if it means killing one of my own men." Jameson pushed back with air pressure, lightening the impact of Ricard's blows.

"One of your men is a boy, and you've all but turned into a monster. I knew we left you unchecked for too long." He activated his Delayed Impact as he swung back, constantly knocking the flames off of Ricards sword and extinguishing them as the heat flowed back and forth. As Ricard created space, Jameson shot waves of pressure towards him. Ricard lazily deflected them as the fighting stopped and Jameson started to build pressure in the room as the cold stone met the ceiling's condensation.

"Leaving me unchecked was never the problem, giving me such easy access to the center of your empire was your first mistake." His sword began to vibrate, Ricard's central core begging to be unleashed. He flicked his wrist downwards and revealed a small stone orb, intricate carvings and a massive store of power resonating around it. Jameson scoffed as he pondered its surface.

"You would really go so far as to use that?" Ricard grinned and spun the orb in his hand.

"A final gift from my father, ironic isn't it? A half breed like me being trusted with something so powerful." He took the orb and placed it against his chest, a small indent in his chestplate cradling it. "I also find it quite amusing that this Daemon core came from my actual father, the great Daemon general Katek." The orb began to glow with a hungry blue light, the bright blue flames enveloping his figure in a pyre of flame. Jameson could hear screams from within the rush of flames, Ricard screaming in pain as the flames overtook him.

"I won't let you kill yourself in the pursuit of power, as much as I wish you would." Jameson brought down a beam of pressure from the ceiling, a solid cylinder as hard as steel, directly on top of the flames. As quickly as the flames appeared, they dissipated. There stood Ricard, in the wake of his own destruction holding the beam of pressure as if it were physical. The arm he had outstretched was that of pitch black stone, the armor once covering his right arm melted off into a puddle on the floor. His laugh soon devolved into a cackle as he crushed the beam in his hand, sending the pressure in scattered streams across the room and creating dents in the wall.